Chapter Text
In all of the years that Matilda Weasley had served as the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she had never seen so many students be so desperate to visit the Hospital Wing.
After the goblins in the main cavern had been defeated, Matilda had hurried to reach Eleazar — and you. She had burst in to find you, sobbing over Eleazar’s body, magic swirling in some kind of metal sphere. Instantly, the professors sprung into action, escorting you to the hospital wing, shutting down the school to keep the students in their common rooms, and all the while, wondering what had happened inside the cavernous space.
You now lay in the hospital wing bed, contained to a small segment of the castle, slowly healing (thanks to a large rotation of potions). The Ministry had of course gotten involved, and Matilda suspected that by the time you were released from the hospital wing, the entire school would have their two cents on the matter (although it was currently unclear what information the Ministry would actually be releasing). For now, though, she was assisting Nurse Blainey in letting you get some rest. Although some brief assurances had kept most of the students at bay, she was currently dealing with the most stubborn of the bunch.
“Mr. Sallow, I assure you, she is healing,” Matilda assured him. Sebastian was a bright boy, but he was sometimes — no, usually — too impulsive for his own good.
“Please, Professor Weasley,” he begged, his brown eyes searching hers for any semblance of sympathy. “I need to see her — make sure she's all right.”
Matilda sighed. “She needs to rest right now, but she is healing. You are free to come back during visiting hours and see her then.”
Sebastian threw his hands up in the air, pacing back and forth. “Can I just wait here until then?”
‘This boy was not going to budge,’ thought Matilda. “I understand you are worried about her, Mr. Sallow, but right now, she needs to heal and rest. I’ll tell her you came to visit.”
She turned on her heel, walking back into the Hospital Wing, where you were examining the absurd pile of flowers, chocolates, and get-well-soon cards.
“How are you doing?” Matilda asked you.
“I’m not sure,” you replied, looking up at her. “Better… I suppose.” You trailed off, and Matilda swore she saw a quiver in your lower lip.
She thought back to the first time you’d woken up in the hospital wing, the way you’d asked how Eleazar was doing. She’d had to break the news to you all over again, and your lip had quivered in that same way before you composed yourself.
“Mr. Sallow came to visit you.”
You broke her gaze. “Oh.”
“Has something happened between the two of you?” Professor Weasley asked. “You were thick as thieves last I heard.”
You remembered Feldcroft, the catacombs, the curse, the Undercroft. “We… had a, uh, difference of opinion.”
Professor Weasley could tell there was more, but she let it go. “Nurse Blainey says that you’ll likely be released from the Hospital Wing tomorrow if you keep recovering at this rate.”
You nodded, silently fidgeting with the edge of your blanket.
In the days after you were released from the Hospital Wing, people thanked you, over and over again, for saving the school from the ‘goblin threat’. You were branded the ‘Hero of Hogwarts,’ a title you resented. You’d already had enough attention this year, what with arriving late, winning Crossed Wands, and the other adventures you’d been up to. You didn’t need more of it.
Professor Fig’s memorial was a beautiful service, and you thanked Natty for letting you sit with her at the Gryffindor table, where people wouldn’t look for you. Still, you couldn’t help but feel like all eyes were on you, even as Professor Weasley spoke. The Daily Prophet had started running articles on you as soon as they’d gotten a viable photograph (you didn’t buy the newspaper, but you’d seen other students reading it). Some days were better than others. You’d be able to get through your classes, and you could almost pretend that things were normal. But then you’d catch a glimpse of your own face on a newspaper page, and you’d come crashing back to reality.
In other news, your status as the Hero of Hogwarts came with a lot more drama. You’d already had a certain mystique as the ‘new fifth-year’, but now, you received piles of thank-you cards, love letters, and fan mail at breakfast. One day, some Hufflepuff girl had cornered you to ask if you really had agreed to marry into the Lestrange family, despite your far-from-pure blood status. The rumor mill was thriving, to say the least.
Nightmares plagued you, and after one too many instances of your roommates looking at you, concerned, you started sleeping in the Room of Requirement, which had conveniently grown a bedroom for you. Some days, you didn’t bother leaving, spending your time watching over the Nifflers and Mooncalves, which allowed others to theorize even further as to where you were spending your nights.
Since everything that had happened with Sebastian, you’d been avoiding the Undercroft, and for good reason. The most popular theories on why the two of you weren’t speaking involved your long-lost evil twin and a Graphorn. Needless to say, no one came close.
Still, you felt his eyes on you during classes and through the halls, undoubtedly from the rumors of what you’d been up to, drowning your grief in classwork, assignments, and odd jobs for the people in the hamlets. Not only were you the ‘Hero of Hogwarts’, you were the ‘Troll Slayer’ and the ‘girl who cleared Aranshire of spiders’. No one was truly sure which rumors were true, but Sebastian certainly had an idea.
As much as he hated it, you continued to throw yourself into danger over and over again, saving the hamlets from their issues despite being told that it was too dangerous. You didn’t think much of Sebastian’s furrowed brows. He knew you could handle yourself, and if he was truly worried, he’d talk to you. Besides, you needed to save up for Albie Weekes’ ridiculously overpriced broom upgrade, and grateful citizens usually provided you rewards for your efforts.
On the other hand, you’d heard new rumors about Sebastian’s endeavors, most of which related to the lack of mischief he’d been up to. Not once had he snuck into the Restricted Section or gotten detention, and apart from that one time you’d run into him at Crossed Wands, he hadn’t been seen doing a single unsanctioned activity.
Ominis had become a true friend throughout the spring. You found yourself going on walks around the castle, talking and laughing, dancing around the topics of Sebastian and Professor Fig. Ominis regretted things just as much as you did, and his friendship with Sebastian was destroyed after all that had happened.
The Ministry had gotten involved, but thankfully, your ancient magic ability was not written about in the Daily Prophet. Instead, their solution was to ‘live in the Highlands and watch over the Repository until we think of a better solution.’
Admittedly, they’d phrased it more professionally than that, but fancy words weren't exactly going to make you feel better about the rare, unpredictable ability you had.
At the very least, Hogsmeade was familiar.
You thought back to your meeting as you unpacked your trunk in the meager apartment. Most of the furniture was still the same, and you were glad to see your muggle novels had remained untouched throughout the years, but, more than anything, it felt empty. You missed your parents, and you missed the Hogsmeade of your childhood when you’d watch the students practice their spells and think of the day when you’d get to go to Hogwarts.
Somehow, you already missed the castle, despite not being far from it. It certainly felt more like home than this shell of an apartment.
Your stomach growled and you decided to head to the Three Broomsticks for dinner. At the very least, you could hope that people had forgotten about your supposed heroics by now.
* * *
Walking down the streets of Hogsmeade proved that people had not, in fact, forgotten about your supposed heroics.
At the very least, Sirona offered you the private table upstairs when you entered the pub, saying it would be ‘better for privacy’.
You sipped your butterbeer thoughtfully as you sat on the couch, staring into the fireplace until a knock at the door snapped you out of it.
“Sirona said I could find you in here.”
Sebastian Sallow.
His freckles had already gotten darker from the summer sun, despite it only having been a week or so since school let out, and he was wearing a wrinkled linen shirt (rolled up to his elbows) with a pair of suspenders, and some trousers instead of his usual Slytherin uniform.
“What are you doing here?” you asked.
“Came to escape Feldcroft, I suppose. Difficult to receive sympathy for Uncle Solomon when I’m the reason he’s gone.”
Sebastian stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him and taking a seat in the armchair across from you.
“Can I ask you something?” Sebastian eventually said.
“Sure.”
“Why did you want to learn the killing curse?” he asked. “That night, I mean.”
You instantly knew what he was talking about. After speaking with the keepers, you’d felt a sense of finality, knowing that the battle with Ranrok was fast approaching. So, before you’d gone to Ollivander’s to get the wand made, you’d stopped in the Undercroft, where Sebastian taught you the one unforgivable you’d refused to learn. The two of you hadn’t spoken since then, so you’d assumed it wouldn’t be acknowledged. Since learning it, you’d used it more than you cared to admit.
On goblins. Poachers. Ashwinders. Trolls. Hell, you’d tried to use it on Ranrok (it hadn’t worked).
How were you any better than people like Rookwood if you were willing to resort to that kind of magic? And more importantly, were those deaths worse than the enemies you’d defeated — just as brutally — simply because of a curse? Did it matter if you only used it when you were backed into a corner? Did that make it better? And what about the enemies you’d attacked without the curse, the ones who you’d defeated before they even had the chance to touch you?
Avada Kedavra.
Your words mingled with Sebastian’s in your head, echoing over and over again. You almost wanted to blame him for being a bad influence on you.
But you couldn’t.
Sebastian had cast the curse in the heat of a battle whilst overcome with emotion. You had premeditated your use of the curse.
And it was killing you inside.
“Still with me?” Sebastian broke you out of your thoughts.
You paused. “I guess… I learned the curse because I needed it. The Repository… Ranrok… I came to learn it because I figured I’d need it.”
The freckled boy nodded and silence enveloped the room.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” you asked him. “All spring, we barely saw each other. Why?”
He sighed, running a hand through his wavy brown hair. “I — I saw you, or heard about everything you were doing, and I just — figured you didn’t need me. After everything I did, I guess I couldn’t blame you.”
“I was hurt that you didn’t say anything,” you said. “I was just convinced that you hated me.”
“I could never hate you.”
You smiled at that.
* * *
After a while, Sirona had to close up the pub, so she kicked the two of you out.
You walked through the lit streets of Hogsmeade, the two of you falling silent. Thankfully, the walk was short, and you opened the door to let Sebastian in.
“Stitches and Draughts?” he read from the sign above.
“It used to be my parents’ place,” you told him. “Admittedly not the most creative name, but keeping the name they chose felt… right.”
You pulled open the trapdoor, and the steep ladder to the upstairs apartment slid down, meeting the floor with a clunk , and you motioned for Sebastian to go up. He climbed up without a word, and you followed him into the small apartment.
You had grown up here and had kept most of the old furniture out of sentiment. There was the nook in the wall that was your ‘room’ as a child, which you had put a proper bed into, and you’d replaced your parents’ old bedroom with a cozy sofa, an armchair, and a bookshelf. The kitchen was well-stocked with treats you’d bought from Honeydukes and leftovers from your dinners at the Three Broomsticks, as well as an assortment of random ingredients from your attempted ventures into cooking.
Sebastian strode over to the bookshelf, examining the titles.
“What’s Pride and Prejudice?” he asked, pulling the well-worn copy off of the shelf.
“Only the greatest romance novel ever written,” you replied. “You’re free to borrow it, just don’t lose my spot.”
He examined the book, looking at the pages before looking back at you in horror. “You fold over the page corners?”
“So?” you said. “I marked off a few of my favorite parts.”
Sebastian was appalled. “This is an outrage to books everywhere.”
“You don’t have to borrow it, you know.”
“No, I want to read it, I’ll just have you know that mutilating your books like this is unacceptable to me.”
You sank into the sofa, and Sebastian sat beside you. “How have you been?” you asked him, and he chuckled in reply.
“Feels like I should be asking you that, Hero of Hogwarts.”
“I guess I’ve been — lonely. I don’t have Fig to help me, don’t have any guardian anymore, just a bunch of Ministry officials who are more concerned for the Repository than they are for me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” you replied. “Comes with the territory, I guess.”
“Not just for all of this Ministry business,” Sebastian said. “I asked you to cure Anne, asked you to talk to the Keepers, and I didn’t even think about the other things you were going through.”
You didn’t reply, fidgeting with a loose thread on the sofa cushions as his voice grew more distressed.
“I cast the cruciatus curse on you. I killed my uncle. I tore apart my friendship with Ominis, who is never going to speak to me again. I’m a monster. I — ”
“ — Sebastian .” You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “You are not a monster.”
He looked at you, his eyes brimming with tears. “Yes, I am. I’m broken.”
“If you’re broken, so am I,” you told him. “I’ve killed people too.”
“No, you don’t understand,” he replied. “You’ve killed goblins of Ranrok who attacked you. Dark wizards, who also attacked you. People who deserved to die, who provoked you. I killed my own family.”
“I’ve killed poachers and Ashwinders who have families,” you said.
The tears spilled over, saltwater running down Sebastian’s cheeks, and you opened your arms to him. Sobs racked his body as you traced gentle circles on his back.
“I was only trying to help.”
If you’d have known that Sebastian was tearing himself up this way, you would have talked to him more over the spring. He blamed himself for so much, and you felt your heart break at the thought. Still, you were sure you’d made the right choice not to turn him in. He saw the consequences of his actions — felt regret for what he’d done. If you’d turned him in, sent him to Azkaban, he would have kept justifying it.
“I know.”